


Bein' Ugly

by Keliana856



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: (is best Nicole Haught), Cowboy stare-down, F/F, Lawful Good Nicole Haught, Monster Transformation, Rated T for swearing, Ugliness in general, Ugly mustaches, Ugly pencil holders, fic-of-a-fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:56:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keliana856/pseuds/Keliana856
Summary: Nicole thought she could hear some kind of noise in the background, though what exactly she couldn't tell. “Look, we can talk again later. Stay safe, alright?”“Wait! Waves-”“Goodnight.”The line went dead.---------A fic-of-a-fic inspired by the EXCELLENT "This Old House" by coldmackerel.





	Bein' Ugly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coldmackerel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldmackerel/gifts).
  * Inspired by [this old house](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829281) by [coldmackerel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldmackerel/pseuds/coldmackerel). 



> Given the trauma of what happened to Nicole in Ch.09 of "This Old House", I found myself obsessing over what might happen if Nicole got the chance to confront the men who once left her for dead.

_If I was born as a blackthorn tree_

_I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you_

_Fuel the pyre of your enemies_

_-Hozier,[NFWMB](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOLwWyerOHM) (2018)_

 

+++

 23

+++

 

The wind, warm and dry and crackling with static, rippled through the open windows of the police cruiser as it careened down the empty road. Nicole nearly let herself close her eyes as she let the thousands of tiny gusts of wind and dust and pollen caress her cheeks, but she decided against it. Doin' such a thing was plum foolish, and she was already doin' a lot of plum foolishness to start.

 

For one, the sun was setting low in the sky behind her, and the moon weren't far off from rising in the sky ahead of her, fuller and brighter than it was gonna be for _years_. A super-moon, Waverly'd called it. She'd followed that up with some talk about obituaries and pedigrees, though Nicole had a hunch that the moon didn't actually have nothin' to do with newspapers. Either way, Waverly was a mile ahead of her, which was just about the rice for the pudding. She still tasted better than pudding though, so Nicole didn't mind none.

 

But what she _did_ mind was the fact that she weren't in the safety of the Earp backwoods this close to shifting. The past day or two, she could _feel_ the monster just itchin' to get out and howl and howl and howl until her entire soul was launched at that glowing rock. Tonight, when the moon would be at it's fullest? Ain't no way she could deny it.

 

The other bit of foolishness that had her feeling mighty plum-like was the fact that she were racing towards the Earp homestead at well over the posted speed limit. Nedley would've hided her for the infraction of the law all by itself, never mind the fact that she were doin' it against Waverly's express orders not to.

 

+++

 

The call had come in while she was pouring over some paperwork for Nedley. Lenny had done and tripped himself ass-first into an open septic tank while responding to a call about a coyote on the Larkin property. While that were probably the only part of a human what should ever come into contact with a septic tank, Lenny was nothin' if not ambitious (and Lenny was indeed a whole lot of nothin'), and so he'd deposited the rest of his body into the cesspit as well in the commotion. Now he was in the hospital being treated for sepsis, rabies, and just about any communicable disease he could dream up.

 

And while all that were a treat for office gossip, it weren't a treat for Nedley seein' as how Lenny had filed a workman's comp ticket to try and pay for his extended visit at Purgatory General.

 

So, with a strange look in his eyes, the kind that reminded Nicole of when he'd first ran across her in the desert as a tiny feral ball of skin and ribs and _teeth_ and seen something _more_ , Nedley had come to her that morning and laid out the situation as plain as he could. Lenny contributed to the department's Workman's Comp fund – they all did, or at least Nicole weren't aware of none who didn't – and so he was fully entitled to compensation in the event of a workplace accident.

 

Even Nicole knew that law was more sacrosanct than any she were sworn to uphold. She had distant memories of lawyers on TV who'd hollered and spat at the top of their lungs callin' themselves “The Hammer” fightin' for workman's comp cases, like they were about to rip off their fancy three-piece suits and wrassle a full grown bear.

 

Problem was, Lenny was an idiot, and ain't no insurance in the world gonna cover some damn fool excuse for taking a dip in someone else's leavings. So, as the man in charge of their department, it was up to Nedley to try and sort out whether or not it were worth it to try and challenge Lenny's claim, or to suck up as much foul stink as poor Lenny'd done and just pay the man for his stay in the hospital regardless of insurance.

 

Except, it seemed that Nedley had an idea about teaching Nicole the way of things round the department, not just workin' there but how the place was _run_ , and so he'd delegated this particular task to her, dumping a copy of Lenny's workman's comp claim and the department's insurance contract on her desk with the direction to come up with a decision by week's end.

 

Now Nicole was many things, and while _dumb_ wasn't one of them, neither was _smart_. Reading the contract back when she'd signed it for herself had given her a headache after the first five words. Reading it now looking for clues as to whether or not a paragraph about limited liability had any godly thing to do with falling into a concrete tank of piss made her eyes water and the veins in her temples throb like they were being slowly pumped full of napalm and looking for a match to set her head all the way on fire.

 

But Nedley had given her such a _look_ , like this was some kind of test, and Nicole supposed that it was at that. And she owed Nedley. She owed Nedley her whole damned life of living in a house to call her own with a girlfriend to love and chickens to feed and a startling clear night sky to look up into every night. She could repay Nedley with a winning lottery ticket and a gold plated revolver and an all-expenses paid luxury tour of New Zealand and it wouldn't budge the scales even a fraction. And worst of all, Nedley didn't see it that way at all. For some damned fool reason that she very selfishly hoped he'd never discover the folly of, he didn't see the scales between them as anything but straight level.

 

So trying to chew through some lawyer's written attempts to summon a kind of ravenous hell-spawn to put her own to shame using a dead language was absolutely something she could do for him... or try to, at least, before handing it off to the one woman she knew who actually spoke dead languages for fun.

 

But the effort had completely distracted her, and the sun was well into its arc across the sky and across her desk when her phone rang.

 

“Pee-Pee-Dee, Deputy Haught's desk.”

 

“ _Hey you!_ ”

 

“Waves! What's the story?”

 

“ _No story, none at all. I just wanted to call and hear your voice._ ”

 

“Well, you've heard it. And in about-” she glanced at her dial watch, blanching at the late hour, “-an hour you'll get to hear it again in person.”

 

“ _No! No, I mean, there's no need for you to come over tonight._ ”

 

Nicole's eyebrows shot up, followed quickly by her eyes squinting at the framed picture of Waverly on her desk, beaming in a light summer dress and comically large straw sun hat. “Y'alright, Waverly?”

 

“ _Fine! Just entertaining some old friends of daddy's._ ” Nicole's eyes widened in alarm. “ _So I just wanted to let you know that I'll be busy for the next few hours, and there's no need for you to come over tonight just to keep me company._ ”

 

Nicole sat up straight in her chair, her free hand gripping the arm rest of the chair with sudden vigor as ice sang through her veins and the memory of Wolfsbane and black sludge and, oh yeah, _getting shot_ clumped in the back of her mouth like too-dry peanut butter. She quickly swallowed down the lump, and cleared her throat gently. “Waves... are you able to talk freely right now?”

 

“ _Oh, I don't know when I'll be free for a night, we can try again next week?_ ”

 

Nicole stood up sharply, the chair clattering behind her. “Waves, just hang on, y'hear? I'll be there as soon as I can.”

 

“ _No! I told you, I don't want to see that movie again. Ever.”_ Nicole thought she could hear some kind of noise in the background, though what exactly she couldn't tell. _“Look, we can talk again later. Stay safe, alright?_ ”

 

“Wait! Waves-”

 

“ _Goodnight.”_

 

The line went dead.

 

+++

 

The flight from her desk to the patrol cruiser had been a blur, and Nicole would probably have to repay Clements for that ceramic pencil holder that she'd knocked off his desk. It was a lumpen brown thing that'd hit enough ugly sticks on the way to the kiln to make its own little forest of ugly, so she wouldn't have to pay much. Hell, he might even pay _her_ for getting rid of the eye sore. But she had the feelin' that it was a family knickknack or some such, and you simply did not mess with family heirlooms.

 

'Sides, bein' ugly shouldn't be no crime. At least not accordin' to Waverly and Nedley, and she was pretty sure they were quite reputable authorities on that matter. They were in charge of her ugly heart, anyhow.

 

The road rumbled beneath the cruiser and the wind howled in her ear.

 

Wonder what bein' in charge of a heart entails? Did they have to sign paperwork? “I, the undersigned, do hereby take partial custody of the heart of one Nicole Haught. Every beat hereafter shall be the exclusive property of myself and any enumerated cosignatories. I reserve the right to at any time increase the rate of beating by any means I deem necessary for reasons both mischievous and amorous.”

 

Nicole shook her head. That lawyer's demon prayer she'd been pourin' over all day was starting to corrupt her. That's why you always needed an exorcist around the buggers, never knew when the tricky things would slip in some kind of clause that'd make you start thinking in smart.

 

Another glance in the rear view mirror revealed that the sun was half-way set, and would be all-the-way set in just a few minutes. And she could just glimpse the moon peekin' out over the distant foothills ahead of her.

 

She wasn't gonna make it to the homestead before the moon got high enough to call out her monster. A monster that those stetson-wearing gunslingers were all too eager to chase after with their pistols and their trucks.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuckity fuck-a-duck.

 

+++

 

The sun was indeed all-the-way set and the moon had almost all-the-way risen over the horizon by the time Nicole's cruiser blew past the “ **EArP** ” mailbox, though in the gloaming between the two she could still see exactly what she was afraid of: Three beaten up trucks with identical mud sprays along the wheel wells despite the different makes and sun-bleached paint jobs, all parked hap-haphazardly about a football field's length away from the homestead.

 

She let her cruiser slow down as she approached, letting it coast to a stop next to the trucks. As she shifted the car into park, she glanced at the porch, and there all three of them were, illuminated by the single gently swaying porch light that'd already been turned on in anticipation of the dusk. True to the last time she'd seen them, they were still wearing their leather dusters and brown stetsons, and from her current distance she could just make out a beer bottle in each of their hands.

 

Fuck.

 

And to the right of the group, leaning against a painted porch baluster was Waverly, her eyes drawn to Nicole's cruiser and wide with alarm.

 

Fuck-a-duck.

 

Nicole took a deep breath and donned her own white stetson before opening the driver's door and ducking out under the car frame and into the evening air proper. If she was going to do this, she may as well meet them hat-to-hat.

 

Standing tall and erect on the grass of her home, the crisp air on her tongue and the light of the moon catching her eye, she could already feel the bones in her arms and legs starting to shift and slide, just _itching_ to start the process of rearranging themselves in an awful cacophony of snaps and hisses until she weren't recognizably human no more.

 

She took a deep breath and held it. Once, she'd summoned the herculean strength and will to shift when she wasn't supposed to. Now, she held a little prayer for John Wayne or Juan Carlos or Jesus H Christ or whoever the Sam hell it was who'd popped into her head and given her that particular verbal kick in the ass, asking for the strength and the will to _not_ shift when she was _supposed_ to.

 

Her bones still sang and her muscles felt ever more aflame and she wanted nothing more than to _howl_ at the top of her lungs for something as ugly and lonely as her, but somehow she was able to keep a lid on things. It was a lid made of laffy taffy and balsa wood, but it was a lid.

 

Nodding to herself, she strode forward at an even, steady pace towards the porch. The three gunslingers had taken notice of her as well, and all on the porch were now staring at her as she approached. Only one of the trio stood as she neared the steps, whom she recognized as Doc Holiday.

 

“Evening, y'all.” She opened with as she stopped, one foot on the dirt and one foot on the first step up the broad case up to the porch with both hands resting on her belt.

 

Doc made a show of tipping his hat to her. “Deputy.” In the corner of her eye, Nicole could see just how ashen Waverly's face was. “Fancy seein' you round these here parts.”

 

Nicole let a mirthless grin grace her features. “Ain't nothin' fancy about it. I'm just here to check in on Ms. Earp here.” Nicole nodded towards Waverly. “She has trouble with ne'er-do-wells and chicken thieves from time to time. I like to drop by every now and then just to make sure they ain't bothering her.”

 

“That a fact? Well, I can assure you, Deputy, that we ain't seen no chicken stealin' take place tonight.” Doc reached into a front pocket and produced a cigarette, popping it into his mouth. A reach into his jean pocket – which opened his cracked leather duster more than enough to reveal his holstered six-chamber silvered revolver and an honest-to-god bandolier to feed it – produced a matchbook with which he then lit the fag, taking great care to puff a healthy ring of smoke as the cigarette caught aflame. She wasn't a dozen paces away from the man, and so could easily smell the burnt ash and menthol that came with the lighting, along with the stale scent of beer carried on his breath, and fought down the urge to cough. She had enough _urges_ in her body that she was trying desperately to keep under wraps, and this wasn't helping.

 

“That's a nice piece you have there.” She observed, the hand nearest to her own holstered service weapon twitching in anticipation.

 

Doc waved the lit match until it was snuffed out, tossing it beyond the porch and onto the grass. Doing so when the air was so dry and it'd been too many weeks since their last rain was a clear fire hazard, but there were larger issues to worry about. “You like it? It's a family heirloom.” He casually reached down and pulled out the revolver, and Nicole's breath hitched ever so slightly. Turning it this way and that, though always keeping the barrel pointed upwards, he admired it in the light of the porch. “This weapon has been with the Holiday line since the Yankee civil war. It's killed over a dozen men since it was forged. Not to mention...” Doc let his gaze shift from the cold glint of the barrel to Nicole's face. “An unaccountably large number of vermin.”

 

“You really think that you'll be needing that thing tonight?” Nicole asked, desperately trying to keep her voice steady and level with just the right amount of mild incredulity to not seem condescending.

 

A grin appeared beneath Doc's mustache, joyful for all the wrong reasons, feral and full of _teeth_. “A lot of _ugly_ creatures out on a night like tonight. It's best to keep some protection on you.”

 

Nicole straightened her back. “Well, you might not know this, but I'm sworn to protect all of the souls in Purgatory. From the mighty mayor all the way on down to the lowliest duckling. 'Sides,” she added with narrowed eyes, “bein' ugly ain't a crime.”

 

They stared at each other for a beat, with only the sound of the wind gently blowing around the sides of the house coming between them.

 

And then, Nicole let her self smirk. “And good thing too, or else I'd have to take you and your _charming_ mustache into custody.”

 

Doc was deathly silent for an eternal second. Then he tipped his head back and let out a long, loud belly laugh.

 

“I keep tellin' ya to shave that piece of roadkill off your face, Doc.” One of the other two gunslingers remarked from his seat to the left of the porch.

 

Doc's laugh ebbed, and he moved to holster his revolver. “And I daresay I did not ask for your opinion, Adlai. The only opinion what matters about my mustache is that of the very fair maiden who kisses it.” Doc's grin this time was smug and lecherous, but at least not feral and bloodthirsty. “And she is of the opinion that it is a dee-vine gift.”

 

Nicole hummed. “I suppose beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

 

Doc nodded. “It is at that.”

 

Nicole spared a glance towards Waverly, whose face wasn't quite as ashen as it was a few moments ago, though the deep indents in her arms where she was holding herself belied her heightened tension.

 

She couldn't blame her.

 

Nodding once more towards the thankfully holstered weapon, Nicole raised an eyebrow as she asked “I assume you have a permit for that antique of yours?”

 

Doc blinked, and for the only split second she'd ever seen of the man, he seemed to be at a loss for words. He recovered with aplomb though. “I don't reckon anyone's ever asked that of me before.”

 

“Well, I am sworn to uphold the law. And Canadian gun laws are very clear on that subject.”

 

Doc merely grunted.

 

Nicole let her gaze sweep over the other two gunslingers, who were suddenly twitching in a very self-conscious manner. “If you boys need to go home and grab those permits, I'd be more than happy to wait. No need to punish someone for a first-time slip of memory.”

 

“What a _generous_ offer. I daresay we should take you up on that. Shouldn't we, boys?”

 

The other two also merely grunted, gathering themselves up from their seats.

 

Doc turned to Waverly. “Ma'am, it's been a pleasure as always to be in your company.” He tipped his hat towards her deeply. “Do give your sister my regards the next time you see her.”

 

Waverly could only nod, a subtly pained smile on her features.

 

He turned towards Nicole, and simply concluded the conversation with “Deputy.” He then ambled down the steps past Nicole and towards his parked truck, the other two men in tow close behind him.

 

Nicole turned and watched as they each assembled into their trucks, one by one igniting their engines and slowly forming a convoy that eventually began rumbling down the dirt driveway away from the homestead. It wasn't until the last pair of tail-lights rounded a tree line and the dull roar of their engines was starting to fade that Waverly stomped over and hit her on the shoulder with surprising force.

 

“Ow.”

 

“You _idiot_!” Waverly hissed, hitting her in the shoulder again with equal fury.

 

“Ow!”

 

“I _told_ you to stay away from them! It's a full moon, and you're liable to transform at any moment!”

 

Nicole swallowed and nodded, pulling off her jacket and moving to unbutton her pressed white uniform shirt. “I know. I'm struggling just to keep still.”

 

Waves' fury dissipated, and she looked up at Nicole with a cautious expression. “You mean... you've been holding it in? I thought you couldn't do that?”

 

A wave of sensation rippled over her body, and Nicole had to shut her eyes to tamp it down. “I can't for much longer.” She hissed through clenched teeth.

 

Waverly blinked, and then nodded quickly, taking the jacket from her hand and helping Nicole with her belt buckle while she finished with the shirt buttons. “After you've changed back, don't think that we're not going to have a very long and meaningful discussion about when and where we can't come to each other's rescue, alright?”

 

Even through the all-consuming unholy pain of her bones beginning the process of cracking and distending, Nicole still managed a smile. “Wouldn't miss it for the world, darlin'.”

 

Waverly, in the middle of collecting Nicole's shoes and pants, looked up at her, and for a moment that she wanted desperately to engrave on the inside of her eyelids, they shared a small smile. Then nature or whatever it was inside her intervened, and Nicole shut her eyes as a growl escaped her throat. She heard Waverly retreat a few steps up onto the porch as the leaky dike inside of her she'd been plugging up with three of her fingers finally burst with explosive force, and the transformation began in earnest.

 

The speed of the transformation left her howling in far more pain than usual – apparently holding it in had a price – and when it was finally finished, she took several moments to thrash around on the ground as her new body continued to ripple with aftershocks of agony.

 

When she eventually came to, she gathered her bearings. The grass was low and fragrant, the moon high and enticing, and there were no signs of interlopers on her domain. The world was beginning to come to rights. A creak from the porch drew her attention though, and all else faded away.

 

Waverly was seated on a chair on the right side of the porch, a blanket in her lap and a very attentive expression on her face.

 

With a satisfied snuff, Nicole slowly drew herself up onto all four of her limbs and then ambled up the steps towards her waiting lover. She padded up beside Waverly's seat and then settled herself down parallel to the much smaller woman's chair, whereupon Waverly unfurled the blanket over her back, adjusting it here and there to smooth the wrinkles out of the fabric once it had covered her auburn fur.

 

The blanket wasn't necessary, not really, not from a “I might die from temperature exposure” perspective. But from a “this blanket is what allows the woman I love most in the world to touch me while I look like a lawyer's true form” perspective, it was _vital_ and _cherished_.

 

“That shift looked like it was a lot rougher than normal.” Waverly observed as she continued to smooth down the blanket over Nicole's lumpen body, running her hands over the fabric as much for the contact as for any other reason.

 

Nicole whined in agreement.

 

Waverly hummed thoughtfully. Probably already thinking of things, contingencies, any manner of subjects which always left her a mile ahead of Nicole. That was okay though. Nicole drew in a deep breath, noting the fragrant citrus body wash that Waverly had used in the shower earlier that day, and let the scent settle deep into her lungs and her newly shaped bones. She still tasted better than pudding.

 

A silence fell over them for a moment. Then it was broken by Waverly, staring out at Nicole's police cruiser still parked in the middle of the front yard. “I thought you weren't supposed to take those cruisers home with you at the end of your shift?”

 

Nicole whined, and then bumped Waverly's leg with her snout. When the brown-eyed woman looked down at her, Nicole only let out a snuff of air through her nostrils, before settling back down.

 

She could hear Waverly's chuckle, and liked it. “We are _so_ having that conversation later on.” Waverly leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of Nicole's bumpy head, and Nicole couldn't help the purr that rumbled through her chest.

 

The pair contented themselves for the moment to look out at the moon-lit forest all around them, and the sky kissed with thousands of twinkling stars above them.

 

+++

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for a "and they both looked up at the night sky in quiet awe" happy ending, what can I say?
> 
> Thanks again to Coldmackerel for making me lose sleep while trying to write this fic. I do it all for you buddy! ^^d
> 
> Follow me on twitter for occasional tweets about Earp fic, Star Trek, food posioning, and any other of my inane thoughts: @RyanTZeppo


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